The Chancellor and the Jedi
by Citizenjess
Summary: In a universe where Bail Organa is Chancellor, and Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Jedi General who has stolen his heart, sparks (and rumors) fly, and it all leads to darkness.


This story took a long time to write down, and I think it's because, um, it's 7,000+ words for something that was supposed to end up as like, five 100-word drabbles pieced together. So, whoops? Anywho.

Summary: In a universe where Bail Organa is Chancellor, and Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Jedi General who has stolen his heart, sparks (and rumors) fly, and it all leads to darkness. (Not a happy 'fic. I'M SORRY. I wanted it to be, really.) Warning: Major character death; minor gore. This is entirely inspired by Mel's (senatorbailorgana on Tumblr) amazing Bail RP-ing alongside 'my' Obi-Wan (obiwankenooobi, though a lot of the applicable threads were done through anonymous Asks and such) in what she dubbed the "The Chancellor and the Jedi" 'verse, and the name stuck. In addition, fanofthefass' Obawan and Mel's Bail inspired the third section of this a bit, vis-a-vis their young Bail/Obi-Wan 'verse RP (which they should continueee you guysss). This story basically just curled itself around my brain a couple of days after the TCatJ RP occurred, and never left. And now, here it is.

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**The Chancellor and the Jedi**

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1.

He opens the door to his private quarters - Sheltay's not there, it's late, she's already gone home for the evening, for the weekend, even - and then everything goes to Hell.

"Ah, Chancellor Organa." The silky, sinister voice of Count Dooku, formerly a Jedi, now something entirely not a Jedi, is not entirely familiar to Bail, but the visage, the heavy, dark cloak fastened near the throat with an expensive-looking brooch, are unmistakable. It's not the man who stands, smirking and regal, in front of Bail's desk, who captures Bail's attention, however. That is, on the floor in front of Dooku, kneeling, arms bound simply behind his back with wrist binders, is Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the Clone Army of the Republic and personal bodyguard to the Supreme Chancellor.

"Obi-Wan," Bail murmurs, and his body goes slack. From his position on the tightly-woven carpet, Obi-Wan's face is drawn, solemn. He does not struggle. "Chancellor," he responds simply, and the idea that he might never again hear his name or even his title spoken with such reverence in the dulcet tones of General Kenobi's soft Coruscanti accent fills Bail with dread.

"Please." He takes a step forward, and then back when the movement causes three of the magna-guards flanking Obi-Wan to move closer to him; one goes so far as to jab the kneeling man with his staff, causing Obi-Wan to shudder and grunt a little. "Please," Bail says again, heart thudding furiously in his chest, mouth dry, all while trying to inject some authority into his (shaking) voice: "Let him go and we can talk about whatever it is you need, whatever demands you have ..."

But Count Dooku's smile does not abate. To Bail's temporary relief, he does motion the magna-guards away, but then steps closer to his captive himself and Bail realizes that, in fact, they were all better off before. "I'm afraid it's too late for negotiations at this point, my friend," Dooku tells him, and then reaches out and runs a hand down the side of Obi-Wan's face, before gripping his chin and forcing his head upwards. "A pity, to be sure," the elder gentleman says, and Obi-Wan grunts again from the pressure of the position. "I am, after all, Master Kenobi's Grandmaster. I even thought he might join me someday. His own Master would have, I'm sure. But, well," and here Dooku's gaze refocuses on Bail, "he's still serving a purpose now, I suppose."

So that was it. For as hard as they'd tried to keep this thing that had blossomed - some might say, out of control, considering - between them a secret, for as often as Bail had told himself, in the middle of the night, when his bed was so very empty without a Jedi - his Jedi? It was such a silly, romantic, delusional thought, but, well, there it was - curled up next to him, eyes gleaming at him affectionately in the darkness, that none of this really mattered, that it was only a dalliance, something to tide them both over while this war raged on, while Bail's wife (his WIFE) was safely ensconced in her own bed a planet away and (presumably; they hadn't talked about it, at least) none the wiser; for as often as he'd had to beg Obi-Wan to stay at all, for fear of compromising their positions, should someone see - even Bail's personal 'droid servants had to have their memories wiped frequently to stave off polite, mechanical queries that might give them away - it had all come to naught. Somehow, some way, someone - Count Dooku, mouthpiece for the mysterious "Sith" Lord whom Obi-Wan occasionally mentioned in passing, eyes always drawn to some faraway focal point, as though ashamed that they still had to talk about this at all - had figured it out, had realized that, in fact, the relationship between the Chancellor and the Jedi - one particular Jedi, HIS Jedi - was entirely more serious than anyone should have known, and seriously exploitable, at that.

Still, Bail is a diplomat, through and through, and Master Kenobi, who seems to have decided to forego saying much as he stares death in the face (bravely, oh so bravely, Bail thinks, and he both loves and hates that), is not the only one who can negotiate. "And what, pray tell, would that purpose be?" he queries, hoping desperately that, in fact, there is something that can appease the Sith's apprentice, some way to save the man whom Bail has come to rely on for so many things, officially and otherwise. "If it's money you want, political representation, there are better ways to go about it besides committing acts of terrorism." Bail's voice is strong, booming, even, authoritative, even though he feels as though he could curl up and die on the spot. "You don't need to do this," he finishes, slightly more softly pitched now.

Dooku's smile is magnanimous. Letting go of Obi-Wan, he uses his free hand to reach into the folds of his cloak; the time it takes to brandish and then turn on his lightsaber is practically nothing. A single red sliver of energy bursts from the curved handle of the Sith Master's weapon of choice; Bail proceeds to watch, horrified, as Dooku places the blade near Obi-Wan's head, close enough to singe a fly-away hair with a soft sizzling sound. "Bail," Obi-Wan says quietly, and the soft intonation - not to mention, his use of the Chancellor's first name - indicate that he is preparing for the inevitable. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, and Bail shakes his head.

"No. No. NO!" He yells, and he starts to reach for the small blaster that he's started to keep on his person, can feel his hand clench around the handle, but it's not fast enough, and probably not enough to stop Dooku even if he weren't holding a lightsaber blade to Bail's lover's neck.

Sure enough, Dooku easily waylays Bail's intent, plucking the blaster from his fingers with a tendril of the Force, and then crushing it into several pieces with but a clenching of his fist. "You've made a foolish mistake just now, my friend," the old man tells him, and then, roughly, yanks Obi-Wan's head backwards, fisting a clump of hair. Pained, Obi-Wan winces, a hiss escaping from between his teeth. "Consider this a message from my Master," Dooku intones, and moves in for the kill. "Goodbye, Master Jedi," the Sith apprentice beams, and Bail can feel, even without the Force, the desperation within Obi-Wan to survive, to live. He begins to run towards the action, not even caring what will happen to him, at this point, just wanting, needing to help, to do something, anything, anything at all to save his friend, but it comes to naught. "OBI-WAN!" he screams as the 'saber cuts into the Jedi General's neck; there's a terrible surge of death in the atmosphere following the dismemberment, and Bail's not even sure he's forming words now, though he's certainly still screaming ...

... and that's when he wakes up.

2.

He showers and dresses and gets himself down to his private dining area - staffed with his serving 'droids and the private chef he's been convinced to take on in the wake of the increased hours he's foisted upon himself since the start of the war - without seeing or saying anything to Obi-Wan. It's not that he doesn't wish to see the other man - as a matter of fact, he'd like nothing more than to crush Obi-Wan to his chest, to kiss him until neither has the breath to kiss any more, and then, once it's replenished, to convince, to beg him to come away with him, somewhere they can both be happy and safe and together - but all the same, he feels incredibly guilty, as though he has somehow let Obi-Wan down in real life, as opposed to simply failing him in the worst way possible in his dreams.

(Un)fortunately, his solitude does not last. "Chancellor," Obi-Wan greets him, coming silently and lightning-quick through the doorway without fanfare - of course, Bail's security system is coded to his specific schematics - and he somehow manages to look impeccable even in the midst of all these battles and missions (even though, given that Bail has such need of him, Obi-Wan is rarely allowed to leave Coruscant these days) and the seemingly endless glut of late-night strategy-planning sessions. The worn, brown cloak that has become something of a staple for him is loose on his shoulders, and, Bail is unnecessarily pleased to see, the slighter man ends up whipping it off and setting it over the back of the chair opposite his. He gestures: "May I?"

"Please." The meal is just being served and, as has been customary for quite some time, Bail has ordered two place settings, just in case. He watches the other man choose a medium-sized slice of fresh fruit from a square tray in front of him, and squirms visibly when Obi-Wan's tongue laps at the juices atop the tiny bite, before popping the entire thing into his mouth. "Delicious," he proclaims, and Bail smiles. He's cooked dinner for them before himself, on several occasions, and it never fails to delight him when Obi-Wan compliments the end result. Some of their most romantic evenings together are helped along by Bail's culinary endeavors; for that reason alone, it is something he tries to squeeze in as often as possible, although it never seems to be enough, not nearly enough.

"How are you, Bail?" Obi-Wan asks after the serving 'droids take their leave; the sound of his actual name falling from those lips never fails to make him smile, and so of course, he does. Unfortunately again, his pleasure at Obi-Wan's schmoozing him up does not allow him to see that he is being rather fantastically set up: "Anything you need to tell me about what has transpired since the previous evening? Nothing unusual? No bad dreams?"

Of course. Bail sighs. "How did you find out?" he asks quietly, and Obi-Wan pauses chewing, his fork in mid-air. He swallows his current mouthful, and leans forward a little, ever so respectfully.

"Of course I found out. I'm your Head of Security." In truth, Bail has non-stop 'droid coverage around his personal chambers, not to mention, beings, non-living and otherwise, who accompany him to every meeting, even to the refresher, if the need is there. (At large parties and politically-themed events, it usually is.) Obi-Wan's presence is not specifically required at night, though on more than one occasion, he had taken to staying in the inner-sanctum of Bail's living quarters, ostensibly to keep him safe from possible intruders, though those evenings often ended with them both in Bail's bed. Still, last night had been an exception, and so the question continues to be begged just how Obi-Wan found out what all had gone down in Bail's most recent dream.

"Security holos?" Obi-Wan shakes his head, expression polite, hands steepled. "Okay ..." Bail trails off, and then points a faux-accusatory finger at the man opposite him at the table. "Jedi powers! No? Well, kriff." He continues to look worried, and finally, Obi-Wan throws him a bone.

"It's nothing special, I assure you. It's just that ... well, ... when you're yelling out the name of both the intruder and precisely what he's doing to me in your sleep, it's quite easy to ascertain what the nightmare you're having is about." Obi-Wan's face is chagrined now, embarrassed on Bail's behalf, and Bail feels his stomach clench. Suddenly no longer hungry, he pushes his plate away, hands in his lap.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Obi-Wan's hands come out, reaching across the table for his, the thumbs stroking the soft, slightly darker-colored flesh they find beneath them. "Please know how much I ... care for you, before this comes out," he continues, and Bail doesn't pull away, per se, but his body freezes, heart pounding with sudden rapidity in his chest. "I think, after realizing just how deeply you fear something like ... that ... happening, how much it seems to consume both your waking and non-waking moments, possibly to the point of foregoing far more important matters, it would be best if I stepped do-"

"No."

"Bail-"

"NO! No, Obi-Wan. I won't let you do it."

"Won't 'let' me, Chancellor?" The authoritative voice comes back with a vengeance, and with it, Obi-Wan's posturing changes. Sitting ram-rod straight in his seat, hands relinquished, the smaller man is now a significant force to be reckoned with, and Bail's stomach continues to roil. "With all due respect, Your Excellency, if I choose to retire my position of my own accord, there is really nothing you can do about it beyond giving me a glowing or damning recommendation for whatever mantle I choose to take up next."

"I know, I'm sorry. But please, Ben ..." It's all rushing back, the sights and sounds, the impossibly inhuman smell of fresh decapitation ... "I need you. Don't leave me. Please, not now." Not ever, he wants to add, but he'll take whatever he can get at this point.

"Bail." Obi-Wan's voice is soft, now, repentant, and Bail senses that he's fighting a losing battle, in more ways than one. Sure enough: "I just ... I've been thinking about this for quite some time, and ... I believe my being here with you puts you in considerably more danger than it's worth, for either of us. Plus," he adds ruefully, "the knowledge that my potentially impending doom at the hands of Count Dooku has caused you such pain is agony for me. It's just best this way, my love."

"No ..." He can't believe it. It seems like only a day ago (because, of course, it was) when he could count on eagerly awaiting Obi-Wan's arrival in his private chambers, when the anticipation of bedding down with the other man, even just of sipping tea across the table with him on a morning much like this one had been what had sustained him through endless meetings and the interim between heartbreaking phone calls from Breha about this or that failed fertility treatment or, of course, the news that yet another ally had perished in this horrible war. Obi-Wan was his lifeline, one of the only bright spots for him in the entire galaxy, and now, he was leaving him, seemingly forever. "So that's it, then?" he asks bitterly, the wishy-washy feeling in his stomach now coalescing into something hard, unyielding. "You resign, and I never see you again?"

Obi-Wan's face is yet sympathetic. "I presumed I would tell you before making it official," he says softly. "But if you must know, I've already planned to have Anakin promoted as your private bodyguard. You'll be in good hands. Also, I'm sure this isn't goodbye forever, just ... well, until this fighting dies down, I probably shouldn't tempt fate as your frivolous bed-warmer anymore."

"Do you really think that's all you are to me?" His voice raises, and, for good measure, he slams a hand down atop the table, making Obi-Wan jump. "Sorry," he says, a tad guiltily, and now his hand is throbbing on top of everything else, "But honestly, Obi-Wan, the last reason I would get down on my knees right now and beg you to stay if I thought it would do a damn lick of good is that I just want to fuck you. You know that, right? Right?"

Obi-Wan's expression is contrite. "Of course," he murmurs. "And that is precisely why I must step down; because you love me too much, and I love you back, and eventually, somebody is going to find that out and use it to exploit us - to exploit you, specifically. It will destroy everything. I cannot live knowing that I contributed to something like that, Bail, could you?"

Bail sucks in air desperately between his teeth, looking for some way, any way, to off-set Obi-Wan's leaving. "We've kept it a secret this long," he proffers, eyes wide and downcast. "It's working fine so far."

"Yes, but for how long?" Obi-Wan changes tactics, pressing a different button altogether, now: "You're the Chancellor, Bail," he offers. "And I am a Jedi Master and a General of the Clone Army of the Republic. Those are our roles, nay, the entire reason we have even had the pleasure of meeting. Come back to that. It's dangerous to presume that your every action, your every word isn't being recorded and scrutinized and ripped apart. I can assure you that the moment either of us lets down our respective guards, everything we've worked so hard for - the peace and security of the very Republic - is going to come crashing down at our feet. We could lose our titles, our abilities to do anything at all for the greater good. Nothing is worth that. Wouldn't you agree, Bail?" It's a call for civility, for logic overruling the heart, and of course, it makes perfect sense. All the same, however, Bail can't help but pout, both to express dismay at his legitimate depression over this turn of events, but also simply playfully, eyes twinkling, albeit not entirely with good humor.

"Are you at least in half as much pain as I am right now?" It's maudlin as Hell, but Bail clutches at his chest anyways. "Does this hurt you even somewhat? Or has your Jedi resolve allowed you to release this into the Force with everything else that should leave you curled in a ball, completely inoperable, save for the non-stop weeping?"

"Bail, stars' end," Obi-Wan sighs, and he stands suddenly, light-colored garments moving simply as he comes to kneel at the other man's extravagantly booted feet. "If you really, truly believe that this decision has been come by lightly, or that I enjoy in any way the thought of not being able to serve you directly for any foreseeable amount of time, then I honestly do not know what to say to you." His hands are on the Chancellor's thighs now, not doing anything overtly sexual, though the effect is nonetheless, ... well.

Bail's face is shuttered, though he manages a pinched smile. "Am I warm, at least?" he croaks. He doesn't trust himself to touch Obi-Wan outright, knowing that, more than likely, he won't be able to stop himself easily, if at all.

At the very least, Obi-Wan shows signs of seeming at least somewhat chagrined. "Burning," he whispers, and then, with likewise a notably great effort, pulls himself back into a standing position, skittering backwards a good couple of feet, besides. "I will have Anakin report to his new post later this morning," he asserts, and it's as though he is also trying to convince himself that this is a good idea. There's nothing more official to say; ever the diplomat, Obi-Wan bows slightly forward. "It has been a pleasure, Your Excellency," he murmurs, and his voice cracking on the last syllable is more than Bail can handle.

"Wait," he says, watching Obi-Wan pluck his cloak off of the back of 'his' chair. Standing himself, the Chancellor grabs the sheaf of heavy fabric, and spreads it across both arms. Blinking, Obi-Wan steps into the fabric, allowing it to swaddle him a little, and eventually, shoving his arms through the appropriate holes. He starts to step away anew, but of course, it was a strategic move on Bail's part from the get-go; before Obi-Wan can move away properly, he finds himself pressed tightly into the other man's fierce embrace. "It can't end like this," Bail sighs, his voice shuddering against Obi-Wan's ear. "Don't leave me, Obi-Wan."

"Bail." He allows the hug to continue, until he can feel the other man begin to get somewhat handsy. "I'm going to go reset the 'droids," he proffers, stepping, with great reluctance, out of the warmth of Bail's arms. He lets the memory of it be enough as he wipes not only the 'droid's minds, but also 'suggests' to Bail's personal cook that he himself was never there that morning, and when Bail quietly weeping, slumped back into his chair is the last thing he sees before exiting the Chancellor's expansive quarters, possibly for the last time, he allows it to entangle itself around thoughts of better times, connecting them irrevocably, an inevitable, bittersweet mixture of pleasure and pain, both his to remember forever.

3.

It wasn't always this way, of course. Though the war had forced them together, it had not gone out of its way until recently to rip them apart. They'd met at a mid-scale mixer; Bail's home planet of Alderaan was renowned for its parties, though in truth, Bail found the pomp and circumstance of both his Senatorial duties and those he had acquired through his marriage to Breha Antilles rather frivolous and tiresome.

In any case, a quick escape from the tedium and the crowds had brought him to a semi-abandoned balcony. Its only other occupant was a young man with reddish-blond hair, a single plait of which hung down to nearly the middle of his back. "Nice night," Bail had tossed off casually, and the other man - slighter than him, and paler, as well, with piercing blue eyes and hands that flailed a little to help showcase his surprise at being so interrupted - whirled around quickly ... too quickly, really. He stumbled a little, and instinctively, Bail hurried to help steady him.

"I'm so sorry," the shorter man gasped, and his cheeks blazed pink; privately, Bail thought it was adorable, like Breha's face when he brought her a trinket from his travels that he thought she would really enjoy, and did. It was then, too, that he realized the man - a Jedi, and a Padawan, at that, judging by the braid, of course - looked at least a little familiar.

"It's all right, no need to be embarrassed." Bail's voice must have been soothing, because the horrified expression on the apprentice's face lessened somewhat. "I know you from somewhere," he'd continued then, and it took them both a minute or so to realize that their hands were still clasped. "Excuse me," Bail had murmured, and (reluctantly; for whatever reason, it almost physically hurt him to relinquish his grip, however brief, on the other man's wrist) let go. "I ... are you apprenticed to Master Jinn?"

The younger man's eyes shone like starlight. "I am ... though all the same, I would like to formally contest your initial impression of me as clumsy. I promise I can even walk in a straight line more often than not." Bail had laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that he had been told was attractive. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Jedi had said at that point, and their hands touched once more, albeit in a much more professional manner this time.

"Charmed." He'd had to resist the urge to kiss the other man's hand. "And I," he added shortly, "Am Senator Bail Prestor Organa, of Alderaan."

Obi-Wan had smiled coyly, yet unbearded, his mouth rosy and so very tempting. "Yes, I know," he had smiled, and it had taken all of Bail's resolve not to simply shove him against a wall or convince the Padawan to join him in one of several rooms to which he held the only set of keys. They had not done anything overtly sexual that night - in point of fact, Bail had not even made good on his wish to kiss Obi-Wan's hand - but all the same, when Alderaan had had need of Jedi security in the future, he knew just which pair of Jedi to request.

Things had gotten complicated after that. The Trade Federation v. Naboo mess had occurred, and with it, Bail's life had gone into a tailspin. As a Senator, he was young, but quite popular, idealistic and passionate, yet diplomatic and just the right amount of deferential when he needed to be. In addition, his marriage to Breha had afforded him powers he otherwise would have never had access to. (It was convenient, then, that he happened to love her, as well.) It had happened very quickly: One minute, the young figurehead Queen from Naboo had called for a vote of no-confidence regarding Chancellor Valorum's leadership; the next, Bail was being propped up as a candidate for his successor. That he had been friends with Valorum, had even regarded the man as a sort of mentor, carried its own complications; fortunately, Valorum, mostly stunned by the turn of events - he had always been fair in his work, Bail ascertained, but never overwhelmingly more than passive in his decrees, his actions, and so in the end, it wasn't the surprise to him, or several others, as he learned later on, that it must have been to Valorum himself - had stepped down with grace and dignity, and had even sent Bail a card containing bits of wisdom and polite well-wishings. He was a good man and a passable Chancellor, but Bail wanted to be great.

And then he had won. And then the Battle of Naboo had taken Qui-Gon. And after that, some years later, the mysterious order for the Clone Army of the Republic was completed, and with it (conveniently; a little too conveniently, Bail had always felt, even before he learned of Sith Lords and dirty underground deals with gray Jedi), the war at present had begun. By that time, Bail had grown accustomed to his role, and had acquired a treasure trove of persons accustomed to his coming to them for their specific brands of guidance. Among these, to be sure, was Senator Palpatine of Naboo, who had watched over the mess with the Trade Federation and his home planet with great patience. "This Clone Army is terrifying in its implications, my boy," Palpatine had told him once, steepling his long fingers thoughtfully beneath his chin, "but perhaps, given the circumstances, it is just what our side needs to put a swifter end to this terrible fighting."

As the fighting dragged on across a good couple of years, however, Bail often wondered what would have happened if he'd managed to shut the entire operation down, if he'd de-commissioned the Kaminoans from supplying them with yet more home-grown soldiers, a glorified slave army, as it were. A good leader, however, did not question these things out loud, or at least not where anybody might hear; fortunately for Bail, Obi-Wan was not just anybody. The other man, himself having grown far too weathered for Bail's liking in the midst of this conflict - though in complete honesty, the Chancellor still found his Jedi to be absolutely breathtaking - always listened carefully to his soul-searching, however much it seemed to re-canvass his own previously-made points from their last conversation. "It would be nice if refusing to fight would put an end to this war," Obi-Wan told him once, kindly, eyes twinkling even though his face was lined and exhausted. "But I daresay it would only bring about the destruction of the Republic even sooner." Then he had cried out softly in Bail's candlelit office as the other man slow-fucked him against the wall; it was over all too quickly, this brief reprieve from everything complicated, but at least Obi-Wan had agreed to stay the night - at least in the morning, he hadn't decided to leave and never come back.

As the war raged on, it was also common to see Obi-Wan from a distance, overextended and unnaturally large on every Holovision and datapad across the galaxy. As Senator Palpatine had encouraged, allowing the Jedi to become "the faces of the war effort" was a great PR move, and so Bail had sanctioned (albeit still with some reluctance) his secret lover becoming something of an increasingly-major celebrity. Nonetheless, Obi-Wan did not garner all of the credit; as a result of both his humble nature and his legitimate working knowledge of the powers of the Jedi Order's prophesied Chosen One, if anything, Anakin Skywalker was an even more famous face during this conflict.

For his part, Bail had watched from afar as Obi-Wan struggled to train Anakin, as the other man had become increasingly frazzled first by the tragic death of Qui-Gon Jinn, and then by the demands of his bratty, teenaged apprentice. Anakin was powerful - and pretty, Bail had to admit grudgingly; he knew for a fact that the young man had caught many eyes, including those of his dear friend, Senator Padme Amidala, the very Queen who had resided over Naboo in its time of peril just over a decade ago - and it was probably true, as Obi-Wan said, that he would likely save them all eventually. All the same, however, Bail had never found him to be all that personable; it was difficult to separate who he was now, the Hero With No Fear, the undisputed champion for the Republic cause, from the childish Padawan who threw tantrums when he didn't get his way and whom, Bail was fairly certain, had broken the Code in more ways than one with Senator Amidala. Still, when all was said and done, there might be a time when he was forced to rely exclusively on General Skywalker for his livelihood; and so, he always treated the young man with a modicum of respect, even though something about Anakin always left him feeling vaguely uneasy.

4.

The nights are lonelier, now.

It's almost not worth coming home these days, Bail thinks to himself; after all, there's no one else to cook for besides himself, no sparkling-eyed Jedi General waiting to listen to his stories or, well, to service his Chancellor in the other ways to which Bail has become all-too-accustomed. Mostly, he sits in front of his carefully sculpted fireplace, drinking brandy (sometimes barely slopping it from snifter to glass after the first couple of rounds sous his nerves), and occasionally trying to find something frivolous to occupy his time. More than he cares to admit, he considers contacting Obi-Wan on his personal commlink frequency. "I miss you," he might say, face propped on one hand, until his wrist starts to hurt and he's forced to shift, flexing his arm to the elbow and hissing a little from the pain. "My bed feels so different without you in it. I can still smell you on the sheets, but it's fading a little more with each passing night." Another time, he might rasp that "I could order you back here, you know. Make you stay. You would do it because you're loyal to the Republic. But I don't want you to hate me for forcing your hand, so I won't. But I could."

Worse, of course, are the times when he simply wants to call Obi-Wan and plead for him to return; no ultimatums, just Obi-Wan, there, at least for a while ("one night? Just until I fall asleep? I can't sleep soundly without you next to me these days, please!"), during the loneliest part of the evening. Alas, it never happens: Bail somehow always manages to relinquish his own commlink just in the nick of time before he can do anything truly embarrassing with it, and in the meantime, his new Head of Security keeps him safe, albeit through the use of a cadre of Clone Troopers stationed around-the-clock outside of his living quarters, rather than Anakin himself as a bed-warmer. Anakin is unfailingly deferential to him, always bowing his head appropriately and meeting his gaze head-on; all the same, however, he isn't Obi-Wan, and though he suspects Anakin would listen politely to Bail's ruminating on this precise matter, in the end, their own relationship remains resolutely professional, as his and Obi-Wan's probably should have been, all along. Likewise, he doesn't ask about Anakin's former Master, and Anakin, perhaps out of self-preservation more than anything, does not mention him, even in passing. It is simply presumed that General Kenobi has other things to occupy his time, now, and Bail tries to be satisfied that this is going to keep them both safe until the war is over.

So it goes, for several months, until suddenly, disaster strikes.

"Sir, it's confirmed: An attack, on the Senate building. Bounty hunters, and also, that assassin, Asajj Ventress." The voice of Captain Rex, Anakin's foremost soldier in the 501st, is somewhat tinny through the device on Anakin's arm, but the young man is immediately on the defensive.

"Comm Obi-Wan. He knows Ventress better than I do and can distract her." Bail can't help but notice that Anakin's eyes slide somewhat guiltily from his Chancellor's face when he says this; it's something to ruminate on later, perhaps, however, because right now, Anakin is tugging him by the arm of his expensive robes with a calm urgency that belies the danger they're really in. "You're with me, Your Excellency," Anakin tells him, and Bail nods and follows, Anakin's blue lightsaber blade cutting a swath across the late-afternoon dim of this part of the building.

"It would be best to simply jet you off-planet," Anakin tells him in low tones. "But given the circumstances, I'm going to need to get you down to the below-ground safe-house instead."

Bail knows the place of which Anakin speaks. There are lifts that will bring them there, including a secret one hidden in the expanses of the office of the Supreme Chancellor. Unfortunately, the bounty hunters' attack has interrupted a Senate meeting, and so heading back there is going to be the challenge. "Stay close to me," Anakin murmurs, and, to his credit, they make it pretty far before they run into trouble, in the form of a couple of droidekas that the bounty hunters must have toted along with them. "This must be Dooku's work," Anakin mutters after slicing through the last of the ones in the vicinity, and then returning to where the Chancellor is crouched in a small alcove; he itches to reach for his own blaster, wants to help in any way that he can, but he doesn't want to piss Anakin off or put himself in needless danger - because it would be more difficult for the young man to do his duty, more than anything else, of course.

They have one more level to surpass when: "Someone's coming!" Anakin gestures hurriedly at Bail, but it's too late: Obi-Wan and Asajj Ventress tumble into view from the hallway, Obi-Wan brandishing one lightsaber, Ventress carrying two. Everything's whirring so quickly, and at one point, it seems like Obi-Wan missteps, and then falters, and Ventress comes at him from the side and - "OBI-WAN!" Bail screams, because it looks, from his angle, exactly like the assassin has just showcased her current job skills, nailing Obi-Wan in the side. And then Obi-Wan tucks and rolls, and then he's back on his feet anew, and they begin again, but not before both sets of eyes flit down at them, as well as an extraordinarily angry pair that is much closer.

"Are you crazy?" Normally, Anakin's tone and words would be cause for reprimand, but the situation is dire, and Bail did just (unwittingly, he tells himself; because he was worried about Obi-Wan; never mind that he still has no idea what Anakin meant by that sly glance at him when he'd inferred that Obi-Wan 'knew' Ventress as well as he did, though now, he can hear the faint sounds of taunting-cum-bantering sounding from the both of him, and it fills him with a different sort of dread) put himself in grave danger, after all. "The entire point of this operation is that none of them know where you are!"

"I'm sorry," Bail whispers hastily. The Chancellor's office is on the top floor of the building; the meeting arena, on the bottom one. They're close enough, to be sure - it would be even more dangerous to try and escape to the outside at this point, and would possibly even involve civilians - and then, another setback.

The bounty hunters come seemingly out of nowhere; suddenly, there are two of them, a pale woman with a high ponytail, and a man with blue skin and a wide-brimmed hat sitting low on his forehead. "Looks like we've hunted us up a Jedi, little lady" the man sneers, and Anakin sends Bail careening sort of roughly behind yet another wall, using the Force to shove at him just a little. A fight erupts, Anakin taking them both on, and then, it seems as though they have him nearly incapacitated. Gritting his teeth, Anakin manages to grasp and then pull apart the blaster that the woman is using, though it comes at a price: Before he can react, the blue-skinned man has a rather large firearm jammed up against the Chosen One's throat.

"I didn't come here to kill any Jedi today, boy," he rasps, and Anakin's face is calm, though his upper lip curls a bit. "But I'll make an exception for you," the bounty hunter crows, and then what all happens next - Anakin gripping at the firearm and simultaneously using the Force to spin it rapidly around; Obi-Wan and Ventress coming yet again into view, still fighting furiously, two lightsabers against one, an almost purple blur; Bail deciding against all better judgment to try to assist Anakin, and thus tugging his own blaster from its holster on his belt and stepping out from his hiding place to accommodate getting a better hit on the male bounty hunter - is simultaneous chaos.

Bail takes the direct hit to his chest well, considering; the wound is small, neat, and he only makes the smallest of sounds before falling nearly soundlessly to his knees.

"BAIL!" Obi-Wan's voice is pained, and simultaneously seems to be incredibly close and yet far away. Fuzzily, Bail can hear and blurrily see the madness around him begin to re-organize itself anew. For one thing, Obi-Wan and Ventress appear to have drawn a ceasefire. "This was a capture, not kill mission," he hears Ventress rasp. Closer yet, Anakin and the two bounty hunters seem to be at an impasse; however, a sharp reprimand from Ventress sends them fleeing, as well.

Quieter yet, Bail clutches his chest. His head pounds. Faintly, he can feel his hand smearing with blood (his own). He's about to close his eyes, but then Obi-Wan (OBI-WAN, HIS Obi-Wan, his Ben, only his, or maybe not, but he can pretend now, he's dying, anyways) is there, cradling him in his lap, soft hands stroking his forehead, the back of his hand. "I'm so sorry, Bail," the other man tells him, and maybe it's because his vision is blurring, but when he manages to get his eyes open again, it looks like Obi-Wan might be crying. "I've failed you," he gasps, and Bail thinks his heart might be broken, and not just because there's evidence of a blaster wound having just ripped through it.

"You didn't ... fail ..." he manages, and then coughs, harshly, bucking in the other man's arms. Obi-Wan's hands are firm, soft yet pleading, and he stops attempting to articulate anything, merely lying there instead, enjoying his secret lover's tender caresses.

When he speaks again, Obi-Wan's voice is but a whisper, or maybe that's simply Bail dying. "Oh, I'm afraid we've failed in every possible way there is, my love." He thinks he can feel the other man's soft beard scruff brush his cheeks, Obi-Wan's lips on his now-closed eyelids, or maybe that is just what he hopes is happening. However, he's quite sure the feel of Obi-Wan's arms bunched around him, and the hot tears sliding down his neck - his, or Obi-Wan's, he honestly can't tell - must be real, because he's never dreamed up something quite as good before if they're not.

He dies knowing, or at least hoping, that he's loved.

5.

The funeral service is expansive, even excessive, of course; the Chancellor was much-adored by his subjects, yet also had many enemies - Obi-Wan's presence is not merely to mourn alongside Padme and the others, but also to serve as security, should anyone attempt anything.

Beside him, Anakin's face is stoic; the young man still blames himself heavily for Bail's demise, though Obi-Wan has worked to assure him that these things can happen, even to those with the best intentions, the most exquisite talents. He can already feel Anakin slipping away from him a little more every day - since the abandonment of the Order by Ahsoka, the younger man's first and only Padawan, it seems as though Anakin has only gotten more and more distant; his former apprentice is a supernova burning still-bright, yet if one looks closely, they might see that some of its impressive tail seems to have fallen away - and now that he has Bail's blood, figuratively and literally, in a sense, on his hands, Obi-Wan can't help but think that this is the beginning of the end.

The crowd rises suddenly to watch the procession of Bail's replacement, none other than Senator Palpatine from Naboo. Anakin's face is somewhat more alight as he watches the somewhat-elderly-looking gentleman take the podium. In Obi-Wan's opinion, Palpatine has always seemed a little too sweet, a little too gushing with regards to Anakin's talents; all the same, however, he understands that their meeting after the events on Naboo was fortuitous, and that the young man has garnered much wisdom from him over the years, wisdom that Obi-Wan himself may well have failed to impart otherwise. For that, he cannot help but be grateful.

"Chancellor Organa was a kind, benevolent man, a true leader in every way." Palpatine's frail voice nonetheless booms through the multiple loud speakers in the chambers. "It is with a heavy heart that I take up the mantle of his title in his wake. However, desperate times call for desperate measures; and I can assure you, my fine Republic, my resolve to end this war peaceably and soon has never been stronger!"

The chamber erupts into desperate, thunderous applause. Beside him, Anakin is smiling, albeit with his jaw firmly clenched. A ways away, Senator Amidala sits, dressed in somber, dark clothing, though her pretty, pale face nonetheless showcases ... joy? Relief? Comfort? At Palpatine's words. Obi-Wan tries to search for the same sort of positivity within himself; either way, of course, he will drum up the requisite sympathy and kind words for whoever requires him to appear stolid, comforting. As the chamber continues to ring with an almost appalling degree of applause, however, he cannot help but think that any possible joy remaining in him died on the Senate floor with the soft, wonderful, complicated man whom he loved in a way that he will never fully be able to admit; and this, more than any of the day's or even the past week or so's other proceedings, is what at last makes/allows Obi-Wan Kenobi to dip his head and, silently, and ever so stoically, weep.


End file.
